“I am, aren’t I?”
“We can’t have that on our wedding night.” He got on the bed and started to crawl toward her, like a stalking cat.
Her breathing quickened, exciting him more. “I suppose I should take off my gown then.”
“I like that gown,” he said softly, sitting back on his haunches between her legs.
“I know. That’s why I wore it.”
“I like it best without a shift under it.” He ran his hand up her leg, so that her garments bunched around her hips. “What have we here?” he asked with seeming seriousness when he reached her buttocks.
She bent her knees and lifted her hips so that he could push her clothes under her. Then she sat up and lifted her arms. “Will you assist me?”
“With pleasure,” he murmured as he pulled first the gown, then her white shift over her head.
Now she, too, was naked, her hair flowing about her shoulders and breasts.
She was his to cherish, to honor, to protect for the rest of his life—a finer, better reward than any he had ever thought to dream of, or hope for. “I love you, Riona.”
Her smile was the light that brightened the darkness of his world. That proved there was goodness and generosity and gentleness and affection, even for him. That told him that as long as she was with him, he would never be lonely again.
“I love you, Nicholas,” she whispered, holding out her arms. “My husband.”
He moved forward into her embrace and gave himself over to the pleasure of kissing her. And touching her. Letting his fingers glide over her warm, soft skin. Brushing her flesh with his lips. Licking and teasing with his tongue until she squirmed with readiness and begged him to take her.
And oh, how willingly he complied! Yet he tried to control himself, to be slow and patient, to enjoy this time when they had so much time. No need for her to rise and flee his bed tonight, or ever again. No fears of discovery, or taint of shame and scandal.
Yet in spite of his determination, the sensation of her moist warmth was too much. He discovered he couldn’t be patient after a month without her in his bed.
So when she urged him to be faster, to push harder, he lost all pretext of restraint. With wild passion, burning need and unbridled urgency, he loved her. She arched and wrapped her legs about him, pulling him closer still. She raised herself and licked his nipple, then sucked it into her mouth.
He felt the onward rush, the anticipation of release, and then, the sweet, swift ecstasy of climax. She fell back and grabbed the coverlet in her hands, her head turning from side to side as she, too, felt the explosive, throbbing finish.
Groaning, spent, he kissed her, then collapsed against her sweat-slicked body. Panting, he lay there, until he felt her slowly stroking his hair.
“Did it feel different?”
He half opened his eyes to look at her. “Different?”
“Now that we are husband and wife? Did making love feel any different?”
He thought about it a moment, then smiled. “Every time I make love with you is better than the last.” He toyed with a lock of her marvelous hair. “What about you? Was it different for you?”
“Oh, yes.”
“How so?”
“No guilt, no shame.”
“Ah.” It must have been so difficult for her before, and he was ashamed to think how easy it had been for him.
“I’ve upset you.”
“I was just realizing what a selfish lout I was. I should have sent you away that first night.”
“I’m glad you didn’t. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here now.”
He moved away, and only then realized they’d made love on top of the covers. “I suppose I could have let you get under the sheets first,” he said.
